


The Spring Ball at Tirion

by XirinOfArvada



Series: Crackfics [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, F/M, I don't know what possessed me to write this, Mentions of Finwe, Mostly plotless, Please Don't Take This Seriously, blood descriptions, but enjoy, crackfic, mentions of Indis, mentions of other OCs - Freeform, purple prose with no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XirinOfArvada/pseuds/XirinOfArvada
Summary: The Spring Ball is one of the most important events in Aman for the elves. Earwen attends the Spring Ball with her younger sister, Mirvende, but things quickly spiral out of control as Earwen meets an old acquaintance and gets her 'protective sister' mode activated early on.(This is a crackfic, I wrote this last year and I have no idea why. Read at your own risk, Enjoy :))
Series: Crackfics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112288





	The Spring Ball at Tirion

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! The fact that you even opened this is surprising enough. Nevertheless, welcome and I hope that you enjoy my crackfic.  
> Please don't take this seriously... or maybe you can and let's see what happens when you do.  
> If this cracks you up, then GOOD!  
> If it doesn't, then I'm not surprised since this is a really ridiculous fic with no rhyme or reason. (Actually there are a lot of rhymes but not a lot of reason.
> 
> Warning: The author had no braincell while writing this.

Dancing elves, singings bards – great indeed was the charm and wealth of King Finwé and his Royal House. He was sat on a throne of grandeur, a seat that was reminiscent of open a fireplace, swallowing a precious gemstone. He wore a crown of seven garnets around his head, one garnet for every lord who served him in his court, and six sapphire rings on his fingers for every child borne to him by his wives.

To his right, sat his golden queen, Indis of the Vanyar. Her hair was like the sun yet to rise and her skin glimmered like a star in the pale silver lights of the great hall. On her head was a crown of stars, gifted to her by her beloved king on the fair day that they wed. Yet, there lay a single, ruby gemstone around her neck, which was fastened by a chain made of bronze. The queen was loathe to remove this necklace, for it was a remembrance of the late queen, Miríel, who had passed on into Mandos.

One might think that the one would be sitting on the left side of the king would be his heir and eldest son. But Eärwen was surprised to know otherwise. 

There, reclining on a wooden chair that resembled a grove of ivy leaves, sat the king’s-sister, beautiful Helcalad who was made fair from the head to the toe. Her perfume smelled like lavender and her crown was far grander than the stars that the queen wore on her head. Her face and posture resembled the king’s, for they were brother and sister without a doubt. Though it was the queen who was favoured with the king’s bed and children, it seemed to Eärwen that there was no one else far more beloved by King Finwé, but his sister who’s name sent shivers down the spine of the Swan-maiden.

Yet, Eärwen sought to ignore the chill that coursed through her flesh, for she had a different reason for coming here.  
The Spring Fest was the most important event in the life unmarried elves, whether they be noble or commoner; vassal or lord. It was the one event in all of Valinor dedicated to courtship, for all unmarried elves, female and male, were encouraged to participate and form lasting friendships with one another, with the hope that such friendships will last.  
For many of Eärwen’s siblings, it was thanks to this event that they eventually found the beloved of their hearts. Now, half of her brothers were courting someone and the other half were marred and already had families.

Yet, as for Eärwen and her younger sister, Mirvendë, they had still not found an elf who had won their hearts. Eärwen did not focus greatly on these events, for she was more concerned for her siblings than she was for her own future. In her mind, they were worth more than the time she could have spent in search of her future husband.

Her sister, Mirvendë, on the other hand was three decades younger than she was. She had just turned fifty a fortnight ago; thus, there was never really a chance for her to seek out a worthy husband – not that she seemed interested in finding one. For as much as Eärwen could guess, her sister was more in love with women than with men.

Yet, whether or not her sister preferred she-elves to he-elves, it was not up to Eärwen to judge. The fact remained that they were both princesses of the House of Olwé, and they had their duties to fulfil and their hearts to follow.

“My name is Mirvendë, the daughter of Olwé.” A smile grew on Eärwen’s face, for though she stood at a distance to give her sister a reasonable degree of freedom; she lingered close enough to overhear the conversation that her sister held with what seemed to be a Vanyarin Noble. Eärwen was not sure which noble Mirvendë was speaking with, yet, she was quick to recognise the emblem of the Pierced Sunflower on the noble’s chest.

‘So a son of the House of Mailoth.’ Keen-eyed and sharp were the sons and daughters of this Vanyarin House. Eärwen heard once from her mother that the eldest daughter of the House of Mailoth was a great friend of one of Eärwen’s brothers. Eärwen did not know if this was true or not, yet, knowing her fourth-brother’s fondness for travelling, it would not be far-fetched to believe that their paths had crossed more than once.

Mirvendë held herself with a newfound grace that surprised Eärwen. For Eärwen was well aware that her sister was anything but graceful. Soft-spoken was Eärwen, but not so Mirvendë who often was brute and aggressive. As beautiful as she was, with golden eyes and fair hair, her temper had earned her a terrible reputation in Alqualondë. Eärwen truly hoped that she would not earn herself a disgraceful reputation in Tirion as well.

Oh, what a nightmare that would be for their father!

“Mirvendë? A beautiful name, my lady.” The Mailothion praised. He took Mirvendë’s hand and kissed it. His eyes meeting hers as a smile grew on her young face. 

The wine in her chalice rippled with fury. Was the elf unaware that here, Eärwen stood with the intent of sundering his head from his shoulders, should he come too close to her sister? Eärwen looked down at her chalice, eyeing the crimson wine with intensity that made it shudder and boil before she brought it to her lips and took a sip.

Sourced from the vineyards that were tended by Vanã and said to be watered by the dews of Telperion, the bitter-sweet wine spread across her tongue, leaving behind a smooth, and sugary trail. Her throat hummed to the cool sting of the wine, as it descended down her esophagus.

It was uncharacteristic of a Telerin princess to be drinking wine this smooth and hard. Eärwen might have been the eldest of the daughters of the King of the Teleri, but, it could not be denied that her love for the sweet and bitter taste of the wine was stronger than her desire to confirm to a standard and character that was not hers. She accepted in her heart, that though she was beloved by the Houses of the Teleri and that her dancing was their delight, her smile their comfort, Eärwen was a person separate from the Swan-maiden of Alqualondë.

So, reason was there for her to avoid the drink she found pleasing to her palate, just to confirm to a standard, brought upon her only because she was lucky to be born into the House of Olwe.

In the same time, Eärwen wondered why it was necessary for Mirvendë to conform as well.

There Mirvendë stood, speaking with sweet honey in her voice, charming the prince almost effortlessly. Nevertheless, her eyes and ehr heart spoke different volumes. The window to the heart might be concealed by a lie and a standard, but the heart itself is treacherous to the ones who knew it best.

Eärwen could see past the curtain and the concealment. She could see straight into the heart of her sister and she saw indeed that she held no love, nor fondness for the prince.

“May I know your name too?” Asked Mirvendë.

Their mother must have slipped honey and sugar into her cereal yesterday, for Eärwen could not believe her eyes at all. Where had her childish and aggressive sister gone? Where now was the Mirvendë that she knew? Indeed, a doppelganger had replaced her.

On a silver platter, on a napkin, beside several loaves of bread and a stack of butter, there was a knife. The knife glimmered in her eyes, as she caught it from the corner of her gaze. The prince took her sister in his arms, and he led her into a dance. Eärwen took a step towards the knife

Eru Illuvatar, a Mailothion will not take her sister for a wife.

Another step she took as the music picked up its pace and she heard the thunder of the drums ringing in her head. She judged them not by their tempo, only by their loudness that concealed her murderous intent.

Great was the joy of the dancers as they went to the middle of the room in pairs. They took their partners and raised them into the air like trophies while Eärwen placed her chalice on the table.

She promised that there will be blood mixed with the chalice as, as the flute joined in on the music. Their symphony brought joy and delight to the dancers who began to spin and dance. There was great merriment in their young eyes, a merry light that once existed in naive Eärwen. But naive she was no longer, and great hatred did she harbour for the one who spun her sister like a jewelled top.

He ought to be careful and bring his brothers with him, when he goes to his carriage to sleep, and dream, and lust for Mirvendë, the Silver Harpist of Alqualondë. 

_O, harpist, lady of the House of Olwé, and sister of hers who now bares her fangs, foolish was the one to court you in the presence of bloodlust. For here comes, Eärwen of Alqualondë with a knife in her hand. She approaches steadily. Quick is her gaze to shift from the innocent to the guilty. Quick are her steps and she has no reservations._

However, Alcarin stepped in front of Eärwen and Eärwen’s blood rose to her neck and to her face. She looked into the eyes of this Vanyarin prince and her eyes narrowed.

“Out of my way.” She whispered underneath her heavy breath. The knife shuddered under the scrutiny of Alcarin’s gaze.  
He raised a brow and spoke. “My lady Eärwen. Where goes you with a knife in hand? Do you intend to slice cake for every attendee? Or do you intend to sunder the head of my cousin from his shoulders?” There was only curiosity in him and there did not seem to be anger. 

Gold and silver met together in a tournament of tempers. Silver barred her fangs. Gold stood back, gazing upon Silver’s eyes. Gold marvelled at her intensity and felt himself struck in the heart. Silver felt no fear, yet apprehension was in her heart. She stepped back, the swan necklace on her breast glaring at the harp brooch on his heart.  
Swan flapped her wings and took flight. Harp struck his strings and his music caught the mist in a mesh, concealing his eyes from the wrath of Swan. 

[What just happened here? I have no idea. Up to interpretation]

“Indeed I do.” Eärwen admitted to Alcarin. “Why do you ask? Are you concerned, O son of the brother of Ingwe? Or are you afraid for your cousin who now holds my sister in his arms and kisses her with the passion of a stallion in heat.”  
“He has kissed her already?” He glanced over his shoulder and a frown grew on his face. “Then move quickly we shall, Lady Eärwen. Come with me, Swan-maiden, we shall lure him out.”

“Radiant Prince, I know not the words you speak.” She denied. She needed no accomplice for this bloodshed. 

“But you do,” he continued. “You and I harbour love for her and now, love has become hatred and my cousin shall face the wrath of our blades. Come, Swan-maiden, O come. We shall cut and slice his remains, we shall deliver his head to the house of his father, we shall gather the tears of his mother, and we shall rejoice, for Mirvendë is ours again.”

[Possessive best friend and big sister... what could go wrong? And you guys say the Noldor are the most dramatic people on Arda. Don’t forget that the Teleri have vampires and the Vanyar have serial killers]

“Very well, Alcarin, I shall bring you with me. Yet, do not forget that this is a secret that our honour depends upon.”  
“What secret is there when all this time, you and I have spoken to one another with voices like trumpets in the midst of a hundred nobles?”Alcarin asked her. Yet, Earwen spoke nothing in reply. With a coy smile she linked their hands and together they slipped away to plot.

**Author's Note:**

> If you got this far, CONGRATULATIONS!!! Have a candy! You deserve it. Kudos and comments are appreciated. Now... let's see what other crackfics I can come up with :D


End file.
